


Silent Night

by thegraytigress



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Holiday, Romance, Steggy Secret Santa, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her cake sits untouched. Her coffee lets tendrils of vapor into the air that disappear like ghosts. Peggy tries to go back to her paperwork, but it's too hard now. Her mind wanders, drifting back to a snowy Christmas Eve not so long ago. For once, she just lets it go, lets the memory come, and lets herself live this moment with Steve again… </p><p>Part of the 2015 Steggy Secret Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The First Avenger_ is the property of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for adult situations)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is part of the Steggy 2015 Secret Santa and a gift for stevenrcger on tumblr! Enjoy a little holiday tale featuring Steve and Peggy and a private Christmas Eve…

_“And now our special Christmas episode of the Captain America Adventure Program continues!”_

“Lord, Angie, turn that off,” Peggy says.  She looks up from finishing a few reports for SSR, putting her pen down on the papers.  “Please.”

They’re in one of Howard’s kitchens in his New York City penthouse.  The lights are down low, and outside it’s snowing like mad.  This is their little Christmas.  Angie is departing early in the morning to visit her family.  She refused to leave Peggy alone on Christmas Eve, even though Peggy tried to get her to go now and save herself the rush.  She stubbornly heard none of it, proclaiming that no one should be alone on Christmas.  They even exchanged gifts, despite the fact that Peggy didn’t want to do that, either.  Now she’s the proud owner of a new hat and frock (perhaps a tad more risqué than she typically wears, but Angie keeps insisting she go out more to find a guy and this is just the sort of dress to help with that.  She has to admit she likes them very much).  She herself pulled some strings at work and got Angie tickets to the biggest shows on Broadway in the upcoming months, a chance for her to learn and network to benefit her career.  Angie was beside herself with excitement, and she went on and on about all the things she wished to see.  After that, they shared a nice dinner of roast beef and potatoes.  Now Angie turned on the radio while she readied their dessert.  She looks flummoxed for a moment, but she has her hands busy with their coffee so she doesn’t make it over to the radio before the program resumes.

_“When last we left our hero and his companion, they were on foot, fleeing from German scouts who had unfortunately come upon their company’s camp and ruined their Christmas Eve celebration.  Now Captain America leads the beautiful Betty Carver through the frozen Italian countryside, in search of a good Samaritan to take them in…”_

The woman playing Betty comes on after some horrifically bad wind sound effects.  _“Cap!  Oh, Cap!  What are we going to do!”_   The whistling and swishing pick up, and Peggy can’t help but roll her eyes.  _“It’s snowing so hard, and it’s so c-c-cold!  I just can’t keep going!  I’m turning into an icicle!”_

The deep, strong, overly macho, overly confident tone of the man playing Captain America responds.  _“Betty, don’t worry.  I’ll take care of you.  I’ll get us to safety.  Someone somewhere with a good heart will help us.”_

_“But how can you be sure, Cap?”_

_“Because it’s Christmas.”_

“Awful,” Peggy mutters, shaking her head and trying yet again to go back to her work.

_“It’s so far!”_

_“I’ll carry you.  Hang onto me.”_

This is more than awful.  _Appalling._   “Angie, please,” Peggy says again shortly, hoping her dear friend realizes the disdain isn’t directed at her.  She does, setting the percolator aside to get to the radio.  She switches it off.

The penthouse is quiet again.  It’s almost eerie, just how silent it is.  Angie sighs, and it’s like a gust of wind.  She comes over and sets the cup of coffee and its little saucer down beside Peggy’s papers.  “That bad, huh?”  Peggy doesn’t answer, giving a wan smile instead.  “Not what happened at all?”

“No.”

“No good Samaritan to save you?”

“Not exactly.”  Her voice wavers despite her best efforts to stop it.

There’s a beat there where Angie undoubtedly wonders.  She tries to brush aside Peggy’s disquiet with a wave of her hand.  “Ah, you know how it is, Peg.  This stupid show’s always making stuff up.  They gotta get people listening so the sponsors make money.  That’s all.”

“I know, Angie,” Peggy replies.  And she does know.  This is hardly the first time _The Captain America Adventure Program_ (or anyone else, for that matter) has fabricated or embellished or mischaracterized Steve and her to sensationalize the story.  She just doesn’t want to hear it today ( _not today_ ), and never about this.  She’s done pretty well so far on this her second Christmas without Steve with not getting melancholy and maudlin at his absence.  Angie is helping tremendously.  Though Peggy still doesn’t quite feel comfortable (or ready) to completely open up about her feelings and experiences during the war, it’s surprisingly sufficient to have a friend who understood.  Angie can be something of a pest sometimes.  She’s living with Captain America’s old flame, after all, and she likes gossip.  Not that she shares Peggy’s secrets with anyone else, of course, but she likes knowing them.

Still, she’s smarter and more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for, and instead of asking the obvious question about what really happened during this Christmas adventure, she just smiles and goes back to getting their dessert.  She brings a piece of cake over to Peggy.  “You don’t have to say a thing.  This one’s just for you, right?”  Peggy smiles softly, nodding.  Angie smiles, too.  “Think I’ll turn in.  Getting late, and I got a long trip ahead of me tomorrow.  Night, Peg.”

“Good night.”

After Angie leaves, the silence quickly comes back.  The cake sits untouched.  The coffee lets tendrils of vapor into the air that disappear like ghosts.  Peggy tries again to go back to her paperwork, but it’s too hard now.  The damage has already been done in a sense, and her mind wanders, drifting back to that snowy Christmas Eve not so long ago.  For once, she just lets it go, lets the memory come, and lets herself live it again…

* * *

The wind was positively howling.  Across the frozen wasteland that had once been southern Germany, it was ripping and screaming, kicking snow up and around in a veritable blizzard.  Peggy could hardly see in front of her.  “We have to get out of this!” she cried over the din.

Steve was right behind her.  He’d been trudging like that the last thirty minutes or so, ever since the Commandos’ camp had been ambushed by HYDRA.  They’d been hunkered down in a little section of the woods not far from here, waiting for the rest of the 107th to catch them up as they’d led the Allied advance north out of Italy and around Switzerland.  It had been late afternoon, and they’d all been eager to put an end to the day.  There had been a plans among the rest of the troops in their battalion to have some sort of Christmas celebration; they had extra provisions after raiding a huge HYDRA base a few days ago.  There’d been talk of beef, and a lot of it, and beer and even chocolate.  The men had been excited with the prospect of a real party, so much so that their morale had instantly improved despite the cold and the awful conditions.  Even the Commandos, among the more battle-tested and tenacious of the army, had been nothing but relieved with the idea of simply enjoying a peaceful evening among friends.  The promise of good food, good cheer, and good company on Christmas (when they were all so far from family and friends back home) had been glorious.

Of course, HYDRA had found a way to ruin it.  Despite SSR’s crusade to wipe their forces from northern Italy and up through Switzerland (which HYDRA had invaded despite the country’s efforts at neutrality), enough of their enemies remained hiding in the German countryside and the Alps to the south to pose a problem.  The moment the Commandos had let their guard down, the Germans who’d obviously been tracking them had attacked.  Steve and Peggy had been further from the camp, trying to spot the rest of the 107th through the worsening winter conditions.  When the assault had begun, they’d been instantly cut off from the others.  They’d tried to double back, but with a tank between them and the rest of the Commandos, it had been impossible.  This HYDRA party had known Steve was among them, and they’d been clearly looking to take down Captain America.  The minute they’d targeted Steve, the fight had focused on him.  Chaos had dominated the previously peaceful afternoon as HYDRA had further separated Steve and her from the others.  Eventually Steve had done what he always did: sacrificed himself to protect everyone else.  HYDRA had been after him, so he’d led them on a merry chase through the woods, Peggy protectively in front of him (which had done _nothing_ to help her aim since she was shooting behind them).  The calm, snowy woods had been alight with the blue hellfire of HYDRA’s guns as they’d been pursued.  When Steve had gotten far enough away that the Commandos were likely safe, he’d turned to face their enemies, ordering Peggy to take cover.

She’d followed that order about as well as she followed any order that treated her as anything less than what she was, which was perfectly capable.  And it wasn’t that Steve ever considered her less than him; she knew he completely respected her as his equal.  However, he was also a gentleman and Captain America and madly in love with her, so that made him prone to acts of complete stupidity like this, like charging into battle against a tank and a contingent of HYDRA soldiers by himself.  She’d grabbed her Thompson, covering him as best she could as he’d run at their attackers with his shield to protect himself.  The battle had been fast, terrifying, and furious, the two of them nearly acting as one in the dying daylight.  She’d protected him, picking off soldiers from atop the tank, shooting precisely despite the pandemonium and poor conditions.  Even though they were outnumbered, the Germans had been had been no match for them.  Steve was incredible.  She’d seen him like this before, back to the wall, choices reduced to nothing, desperate and willing to do anything to see evil defeated and people safe.  It never ceased to amaze her.  In a matter of minutes, the HYDRA raiding party had been reduced to moaning bodies in the snow and the smoldering remains of a tank.

Of course, the victory hadn’t come easy.  She’d been shot twice when she’d drawn their attention to save Steve.  The bullets had hit a tree and then struck her in the back of the shoulder when she’d jumped for cover, punching right through the thickness of her winter coat.  She could feel them inside, painfully grinding against bone every time she moved her right arm.  She’d seen enough wounds to know they weren’t serious (at least not enough to be fatal), but they required proper treatment.  They’d bled quite a bit, although she was so cold that the wounds were somewhat numb.  She was fairly certain Steve had been hurt too; he wasn’t showing it, but he was moving slower, favoring his left side just a little.  He stopped now at her right, looking through the blowing snow all around them.  They essentially had no visibility (though with the serum, she wondered if he could see something.  She hoped he could).  “Need to find some shelter!” she yelled again.

Thanks to the weather and the fight, they’d gotten so turned around and lost out here.  Steve squinted, peering through the thick curtains of white.  He looked helpless, turning around and breathing rather heavily.  Peggy didn’t like to admit it, but this situation was rather serious.  They were wounded and alone, in the middle of the woods and in what was essentially enemy territory, with no provisions.  The Commandos could be beyond the next tree or miles away for all they knew.  And the weather was only getting worse.

Suddenly Steve grabbed her elbow.  “There!”  He pointed through the snow and the thick tree trunks.  Peggy followed his gaze, but she couldn’t see anything.  “Come on!”  She trusted him completely, though, so she did as he asked, stepping closer against his flank.  They stumbled onward through the snow.  Steve held his shield out in front; it wasn’t much protection, but it was something at least.  The flakes were driving so hard they felt like tiny icy needles, and she was frozen to her core.  She was hungry.  She was hurt and exhausted from the fight, running, and then trudging.  _Please let there be someone,_ she thought, letting down her façade of not being afraid or hurt and leaning more into Steve’s strength.  _Please.  A good Samaritan.  Someone.  Please._

A few more minutes of struggling brought them to a small cottage on the edge of the forest.  Ahead the trees abruptly thinned into a rolling plains.  This was a farmhouse, it seemed.  Although the urge simply to run up to the door was almost unbearable, they both knew better.  They split apart and separately dashed to two thick trunks ahead to hide themselves in the night.  Then they listened.  There was nothing aside from the moaning of the wind through the woods.  Peggy gripped her Thompson.  Aside from a half spent magazine, she didn’t have any spare ammunition.  Steve had a handgun and she did as well, but that against a force of any size?  She doubted they’d be lucky enough to emerge victorious again.  _It’s Christmas Eve._   The thought was ridiculous the second it made its way through her head, but she couldn’t help it.  _It’s Christmas Eve.  There shouldn’t be fighting tonight.  No war.  Peace on earth._   She was far too much of a realist to think that would mean anything.  Christmas was simply another day out of the year out here, where men died every hour and one wrong move could make the difference between a crucial battle being lost and won.  Granted, Christmas had stopped wars in the past.  Her father had told her once of the unofficial truce in December, 1914.  He’d been there in the trenches on the Western Front when it had happened, when the British and German troops had ceased firing for the night to join in celebration.  Maybe that was too much to hope for here, not after the harried melee not long ago, but she found herself praying all the same when Steve decided it was safe enough to advance.

She held her gun at the ready, held her breath as well as she followed him.  They were silent as they approached the house.  There didn’t seem to be anyone home.  There were no lights on.  The chimney was without smoke.  It was terribly quiet, so much so that the booming of her heart in her ears was thunderous.  Steve caught her gaze once, and she darted through the yard to press herself against the stone side of the building right next to the front door.  Steve followed, sliding his shield to his back and pulling his gun from his holster.  Simply because the place looked deserted didn’t mean it was; HYDRA was obviously all over this area.  When another few long, quiet moments escaped, she decided enough was enough and gave Steve a curt nod.

Steve reached over and knocked firmly on the door.  There was no answer.  They waited, tense and uncertain, before he knocked a second time.  Nothing.  He sought her gaze in the darkness, and she nodded again.  He tried the knob.  It wasn’t locked.  That seemed odd, considering they were in the middle of a battlefield for all intents and purposes.  Taking a deep breath and tipping his head, Steve stood back a step and opened the door in one swift movement.  Peggy rolled off the wall, joining him in pointing their guns inside.  There was nothing but darkness beyond the threshold.  Holding her breath, she stayed still and deferred to Steve, keenly aware of every movement he made at her side.  The serum had sharpened his senses so much that she figured he’d be able to see and hear far more than she could.  After another long moment passed, he boldly went inside, and once more she followed.

There was very little light with the sky covered in thick clouds and the night hard and heavy upon them.  Peggy’s eyes were darting frantically about; _every_ shadow was suspect, though as the seconds marched away and nothing bad happened, the hard knots of tension started to fade from her muscles.  Ahead Steve holstered his gun.  He found an old kerosene lantern.  Reaching in one of the pouches of his utility belt, he produced a book of matches.  Striking one, he lit the wick, and suddenly gentle yellow light flooded the room.  Peggy closed the door quietly behind her as she looked around.  It was a nice home, simple, decorated frugally with furniture that was handcrafted and well-used.  Worn rugs covered the wood floors.  There was a darkened hearth in one corner and a very old-fashioned kitchen in another with a wood-burning stove.  It was obvious this house had no electricity.  There was a dining room, a few chairs and a couch around the hearth, and steps upstairs to the second floor.  She supposed someone could be hiding up there, but…

Steve walked to the dining room table, the floor creaking softly under his weight.  He picked up a piece of paper, holding the lantern to illuminate the writing that had been scrawled on it.  It was in German.  “To whoever finds my house,” he read.  “The fighting has gotten too close.  I am fleeing these lands and taking my family with me.  If you find yourself in need, please take what we have left behind.  On this holiday, it doesn’t matter who you are or for which flag you fight.  What was ours is yours.  Merry Christmas.  I pray for you.”

Peggy coolly arched an eyebrow, lowering her gun and trying to hide her relief.  “Well, that’s fortunate.”  Now that the rush of adrenaline was completely fading, the cold was quickly seeping into her bones and sapping her strength.  She winced as her shoulder started to throb, leaning into one of the chairs.  “We should secure the situation.”

Steve nodded.  “I’ll check upstairs.”  He was lightly going up the steps after that, gun before him anew.  Peggy sagged even more into the chair, panting, wincing openly now.  She looked down at her snow-encrusted shoulder and saw red lining her clothes and crusted into the white.  _Secure the situation._   There was a lot to do.  Reinforce the house.  Gather supplies.  Come up with a plan.  Find a way to stay warm.  A fire was out of the question, not with HYDRA out there.  However, she was too tired, so despite that calm, professional voice in her head that always drove her in moments like these, she selfishly let herself rest.

Steve was back a moment later with some sheets, a blanket, and a basket that looked like it contained medical supplies.  “All clear,” he quietly declared.  His face tightened in worry.  “You okay?”

“Are you?” she asked with a weary smile.

He returned a wan one.  “Yeah.”  He moved fast and uninhibited, setting the stuff down in the living room before lugging an old secretary in front of the door.  With the way in blocked, he quickly pulled all the drapes and went to the rear of the house.  She could hear something heavy loudly scraping over the floor in the kitchen.  Then he was back.  “Sit.”  He guided her to the chair, pulling the Thompson away as he helped her down.  “You’re like ice,” he whispered.  He pulled off his helmet and set his shield to the floor beside them before grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her.  She hadn’t realized how much she was shivering until he pulled her close.  “How bad is your shoulder?”

She subconsciously snuggled deeper into the warmth of his chest.  “I’ll live,” she ground out.

He chuckled in spite of their situation.  “Let me look?”

Despite all the time they’d spent together, all the casual flirting and stolen kisses, he’d never been as close as this.  There was something about that, even as he very professionally went about treating her wounds.  His fingers were gentle as he turned her around and pulled her jacket off, monitoring her for signs of discomfort (which she held back, of course, because no matter what she wasn’t some sort of damsel in distress).  He carefully ripped the holes in her blouse wider before stripping off his gloves.  Then he lifted the lantern.  She glanced over her shoulder at the wounds, wincing.  “They’re not in deep,” he commented.  “The bullets must have been deflected before they hit you.”

“Must have been,” she agreed.

“Want me to try and fish them out?”

“So romantic, Captain,” she managed, barely keeping her teeth from chattering.

Steve smiled sadly.  He had a pair of tweezers and some alcohol, which he was liberally applying to everything.  “This is gonna sting.”

She’d been through worse, had dressed her own wounds in the field plenty of times.  Still, it did far more than sting when he wiped the area clean and starting working.  Peggy stared into the shadows ahead and bit her lip, determined to stay absolutely still and quiet no matter how much it hurt.  She knew she didn’t need to stand on such pretenses with him; he’d never begrudge her or think less of her for admitting something pained her.  But he said nothing, working quickly.  “Almost done,” he finally murmured, kissing the back of her head, and a moment later, the smashed bullets were in a ripped portion of the sheet and Steve was putting heavy pressure on her burning shoulder to stop the bleeding.

Once he was done bandaging the injuries with linen, he let her turn around again.  As he fashioned a sling by knotting a piece of sheet, Peggy curled her hand into the meat of his bicep, letting her eyes close and the taut misery slowly ebb from her muscles.  She felt limp and surprisingly contented while he situated her arm.  It hurt, but not as bad as it could have, she supposed, all things considering.  She didn’t know if it was the cold still numbing her or simply having him close, but whatever it was, she was grateful.  “That’s better,” she whispered.

“For what it is,” he softly replied.  “You need a medic.”

“What about you?”

He grimaced a little, pressing a hand momentarily to his side.  “I’ll be okay,” he assured again.  “I’ll heal.”

Again, for what that was worth.  She knew thanks to the serum he could heal much faster than a normal man.  Still, they needed return to camp.  They needed to report in.  They’d destroyed HYDRA’s raiding party, and with the weather this poor, it wasn’t likely anyone chasing them would find them.  It was probably safe to venture out as long as they were careful.  “We should go back.  We can’t have run more than a few miles.”

“Five at the most.”  He glanced at the snowstorm raging outside through a crack between the curtains.  “Don’t think you’re going anywhere, though.  Not like this.”

“Steve–”

“No, Peg.”  He was firm and unyielding.  “And I don’t think Buck and the other’s will find us in this anytime soon.”

The odds weren’t good.  Assuming the others got away safely, the rest of the 107th had been a couple hours behind them.  It didn’t seem likely they’d mount a search expedition without reinforcements, no matter how much Barnes was likely chomping at the bit to do so.  With the weather this bad and the night this dark, any effort to find them now would likely also fail, a fact of which the cooler heads in their unit (Falsworth and Jones, in all likelihood) would remind him.  Then the gruffer, more uncouth ones (like Dugan) would probably chime in with the fact that they were together – _Cap and Peg_ – and maybe that was just a sign that all was right with the world despite how it didn’t seem that way.  _“Cap’ll keep them safe, and Carter’s resourceful and sharp as hell.  They’ll find some place to ride it out.  Hell, this is probably what they wanted, the lovebirds.”_   That was how they’d spin it.  God’s attempt to give them something for Christmas, that they were together and stranded in some cabin out in the woods.  She could practically hear Dum Dum’s booming voice, going on and on.  _“They’re all alone together on Christmas Eve.  Come on, Bucky boy.  What would you give to be able to spend a night with your sweetheart any way you could get it?  Anything, I bet.  So there’s nothing to worry about.  Let ’em have it.  We’ll find them first thing in the morning.  Nothing to worry about at all.”_

 _Nothing to worry about._   She wasn’t sure she could stop.  It was her responsibility to oversee the logistics of the war, to maintain an eye on the Commandos and follow SSR’s greater mission, to coordinate and command as necessary to ensure victory.  It was her job to worry and be resourceful and sharp as hell so Steve and his men could fight and win.  Taking a night off from that, even if it seemed like a gift, even if it was Christmas Eve…  It seemed wrong.

But she caught Steve’s eyes in the dim light, and all sense of propriety and duty and decorum fairly well vanished.  It _was_ Christmas Eve, and they were alone.  There was that old saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth.  And that was what this was, beyond any doubt.  _A gift._ It would be foolish not to take what they’d inexorably been offered, wouldn’t it?

She could tell instantly, through a simple, happy glimmer in those baby blue eyes and nothing more, that he thought the same.  “Stay here,” he whispered.  “I’ll get what we need.”

She didn’t care how sore her arm and shoulder was or how tired she felt.  She pushed herself to her feet, pulling her coat back into place.  “How many times must I tell you that you can’t give me orders?”

He grinned, standing as well.  “How about this one then?  Go see if you can find us something to eat.  I’ll look for some candles.”

 _This_ command she was quick to follow.  She headed to the kitchen, her keen senses tracking Steve as he moved around the rest of the house.  It didn’t take much for her to find a little pantry loaded with canned and jarred goods, pickled vegetables and jams and jellies.  There was no bread, of course (that would be a bit much for which to ask), but there was a supply of salted and dried meat (mostly ham and pork) that had been left behind by the house’s occupants.  It was probably a minor miracle all of this had been left here in the middle of a warzone, untouched and ripe for the taking.  It was also a miracle that they’d found it.  _A good Samaritan._   Silently she thanked whoever had left behind this food, thanked fate for protecting it, and thanked God for leading Steve and her here when they’d been staggering out in the woods and very much lost.  Gathering all of that as best she could with one lamed arm, she headed back to the living room.

Steve was there, having found some beeswax candles.  He’d lit them with the matches, and soft light filled the tiny cottage.  He immediately came to help her with what she’d collected, setting things to the table.  “Sit, Peg.  I got the rest.”  He pulled out a chair for her, and she sank into it, grateful as he put the blanket back around her.  He returned a moment later with two plates and two glasses (all of which surprisingly high quality).  He also had a dusty bottle of wine.  “Merry Christmas?” he said with a soft laugh.

She couldn’t believe it.  “Merry Christmas.  Get that open.”

He did, fumbling with the opener a moment in the heavy shadows.  Then he poured her a glass and himself one as well.  She leaned back in the chair, sipping the wine.  It was dry, warming her throat as she swallowed, and it tasted marvelous.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had wine.  “Bloody good fortune that these people left this behind.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully.  “Maybe they were saving it for something.”

“This seems like a good enough occasion,” she commented.  She offered him a smile.  “A make-do Christmas.”

He laughed.  “Had a lot of those.”  He was loading her plate with the food as she sipped and sipped again.  “Is it good?  Sorry to say but I can’t tell the difference between the cheap stuff and the nice stuff.”

She nodded.  “I take it you weren’t raised to be a sommelier back in Brooklyn?”

He eyed her curiously.  “A what?”

“A wine expert.”

“Oh.”  He laughed, scooping some jelly onto her plate alongside what looked like a pile of pickled beets.  “Hardly.  Buck and I were swiping beers from his dad until we were old enough to get it legally.  And even then it was just whatever there was.  I don’t think I ever even had a sip of wine until coming here.”  He paused a moment, squinting a little as he gazed into the shadows overhead.  “No, I take that back.  A few years back Bucky’s father had gotten some wine from someone down at the docks.  Won it in a poker game or something like that.  It was Christmas, and he brought it out to celebrate.  There was barely enough for all of us to have a glass.  Buck’s ma kept acting like it was the first real drink we’d ever had, going on about what an occasion it was, even though I’d been passed the drinking age since July and Buck even longer.  I think my mother knew Buck and I weren’t exactly teetotaling, but she let it go.”  His voice softened with a touch of grief.  “That was her last Christmas.”

“Whose?”

“My mother’s.”

Peggy’s heart ached at that.  She couldn’t say why exactly.  They’d all suffered losses.  Her father was dead, same as his.  Her mother was alive, but they weren’t close after the falling out they’d had over Peggy joining the British Royal Military.  And this was war; friends were being lost left and right, very often without any warning.  Freedom and liberty, their very way of life, _their world_ , was under threat.  That hardened a heart, coarsened a soul.  As she stared at him, though, the distant look to his eyes, she realized what it was.  It was because of him, of who he was.  How good and noble he was.  How innocent he was, despite all he’d done and seen over the last couple years.  And it was because of what she felt for him.  How much she wanted to keep him safe, to protect him from all the pain in the world.  Physically he didn’t need anyone to do that for him now, but she’d fallen in love with him before, before he’d been turned into Captain America, before when he’d been small and skinny and sick.  And maybe it was slightly hypocritical for her to dislike how he always tried to keep her safe (the very first thing he’d done with this new, big, _strong_ body of his had been saving her life on the streets of Brooklyn, after all) when she felt the same need to safeguard him.  Maybe.  She wasn’t sure she cared.  She’d discovered a while ago that when she was with him, nothing made sense yet everything was _so right._

“Sorry,” he finally said, breaking free from his thoughts, which made her part with hers.  “Didn’t mean to get maudlin there.”

“It’s alright,” she responded as primly as she could, reaching for the plate he was offering her.  “Christmas is about memories.”

“Yeah.”  He sat right next to her, even though it was more proper for him to take a spot on the other end of the table.  That felt too far away, even though the table wasn’t that big.  “Actually, the more I think about it, that was a really nice Christmas.  Got some new pencils.  Nice sketchbook.  Buck really saved up that year and spent way more than he should have.  And my mom was doing well.  So was I.  Wasn’t sick.  Was holding down a real good job doing the artwork for a local advertising company.  It was enough to pay for school, to keep us going.  Bucky was doing well, too.”  He nodded in satisfaction.  “Yeah, probably one of the best.”  Was that sad?  That a good Christmas for him was one where he _wasn’t_ sick, was able to work and provide?  He took a sip of his wine.  “Mmm.  It is good.  And I forgot.  Cheers.”

She raised her glass to his with a clink.  “Cheers.”

He took a drink again before grabbing a fork.  “So what about you?  Have a favorite Christmas?”

She thought about that a moment.  It was hard sometimes to remember life as it had been before the war.  “When I was… six, I think.  It was before my father died.  I had so wanted a new dollhouse, and he put in extra hours to ensure that I got it.”  She remembered it well.  Her mother had come from some money, so while most of the country was reeling still with the after-effects of World War I, they’d been doing well.  Still, her father had had to work very hard to be able to gift that dollhouse to her.  It had been artisan quality, very finely made, and the dolls that had accompanied it had been amazingly detailed.  Her mother had been so pleased that she’d wanted this that there’d been a great deal of harmony in their home that season.  Peggy smiled with the memory.  “It was magnificent.  I can still recall exactly how I felt when I saw it.”  _Excited.  Ecstatic.  So very happy._   And she could recall her father’s strong arms, the smell of his cologne, the brush of his beard to her face.  She could even picture her mother’s pride, for once just as plain as day, her sweet smile and the light in her eyes.  It had been a good Christmas.

Steve chuckled, eating jelly right off his plate with a spoon.  “What?” Peggy said.

“Can’t quite picture you playing with dolls,” he replied.

For some reason she felt a tad miffed.  “It _is_ what little girls do.”  She swore she could hear her mother’s tone in her voice.

His face immediately slipped into an apologetic frown.  “Sorry, Peg.  Didn’t mean to…  I mean, I just can’t imagine…  I’m stepping in it royally, aren’t I.”

She raised her glass again, amused that he was still so woefully awkward around women (around _her_ , specifically).  “The same woman who occasionally gets all poshed up and occasionally goes out dancing did _on occasion_ play with dolls in her youth, yes.”  Steve grinned, flushing in the low light.  Her smile slid a bit as she thought about it, though.  “Truth be told, though…  I rather detested it.  As a child, I was never, as we say, domestic.”  He grinned more, grabbing a piece of dried something or rather and taking a bite.  Peggy felt her spirits sink even further.  “My mother was.  She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother.  On the outside, at any rate.  The perfect lady.  And that was what I was meant to be as well.  A perfect lady.”  Peggy sighed.  “There was something about that Christmas…  I can’t rightly say now.  I wanted…  It’s silly.”

“No,” he said.  The wind howled a little louder, and the house rattled.  His eyes never left her face, though.  “You wanted what?”

Peggy couldn’t believe she was finally admitting something like this, miles and miles from home and years and years removed from those moments.  “I wanted to be what my mother wanted, if only to see her happy just that once.  That one Christmas morning.”

Steve reached across the table and took her hand, sweeping his thumb across her knuckles.  “I don’t know how she couldn’t be proud of you, Peg, if she knew what you’ve done for us, for all of us, for me…”  He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss there.  “If she knew what a hero you are.  What a perfect _person_ you are.”

Warmth spread in her chest, chasing away the cold and the pain, and she actually blushed.  She thanked the low light for hiding it as she ducked her head.  “Flattery, Captain.”

“I don’t have much else to give you,” he admitted.  He kissed her bruised, chapped knuckles again.  “Left everything back at camp.”

She leaned forward as much as she could with her sore shoulder and pressed her lips to his.  “This’ll do quite nicely.”

After they finished eating and the wine was all but gone, Steve cleaned up while she sat in the chair by the door, her Thompson across her lap and his shield against her legs.  The heat from the alcohol had numbed the pain from her shoulder significantly, and she felt full, good, and content.  The wind wasn’t so loud now, either.  Through that little gap in the curtains, she could see the snow falling more softly.  Steve was bagging up the rest of the food in a sack he’d found.  “Not gonna take anything else,” he declared as if he’d read her mind about confiscating the nice dishes, glasses, and other things of value.  She rolled her eyes lightly at his ridiculous virtuousness before returning to watching the windows and the doors.  “Doing okay?”

“I’m alright,” she answered.

He came around to crouch in front of her.  “Shoulder hurt?”

She nodded.  “A bit.”

“There’s some whiskey back there.  I know it’s not much…”

“Steve.”  This wasn’t something for which she normally asked.  She’d _never_ asked for it, in fact.  But now it was all she wanted.  Nothing else mattered.  Not the past or the future.  Not the memories.  This night was theirs.  “Steve…  Would you hold me?”

He saw in her eyes what she desired, so he leaned up to kiss her, his large, sinewy hands cradling her face.  She threaded her hands through his hair, keeping him close.  Like this, the world did fall away.  The fight.  The war.  All of the moments they had to steal and hide.  All of their troubles.  They were alone on Christmas Eve, alone like they never could be otherwise.  Alone like they _could have been_ had things been different.  Like they were in the dreams she let herself have sometimes.  She permitted herself fantasies, though she never admitted that to anyone.  These weren’t dreams she’d had before meeting Steve, but now they were sometimes _all_ she could imagine.  They were sweet images of them in their home, something they’d buy back in the States or perhaps in London.  A modest home, one befitting both their tastes (though they’d want for nothing, not for food or clothes, not for security, and most certainly not for love).  They’d be married, sharing Christmas together, enjoying each other in the splendor of the holiday.  So many Christmases, each more wonderful than the last.  There would be children, beautiful children with Steve’s golden hair and noble heart and her smarts and cool confidence.  She’d been a perfect wife and a perfect mother, real and true.  The things her mother had wanted _she_ _did want_ _too_ but because of him.  _Because of him._

 _When the war is over._ She kissed him deeper and let him in.  And she let herself dream, just for this moment.  Here and now, it was theirs.  _When the war is over._

Later, she was cocooned in the blanket on the sofa, warm and sated.  He was pulling his trousers back into place, unbothered by the cold as he stood to double check the windows.  The candlelight shifted as he moved around the room, the floor creaking and moaning beneath him.  “Hey,” he said with a smile.  “Haven’t seen one of these recently.”

Peggy turned to look left.  Steve stood near the other side of the small room.  She lost herself in staring at him for a moment, all the splendor of his bare chest and slender torso, before lazily focusing on what he was doing.  There was a credenza beside him with an old phonograph atop it.  The device was well-used and well-loved, the flaring horn glinting with a nicely polished shine as Steve lifted one of the candlesticks closer.  Peggy had to admit it had been a while for her as well, given newer models and better technology.  Radio and disc records had fairly well taken the place of these sort of players.  Steve picked through the canisters, reading the labels.  He found one he liked, loaded it into the device, and turned the crank to power it.

A moment later, the horn was emanating static.  Then low, quiet music began to fill the room.  She recognized the song instantly.  “How apropos,” she lightly joked.

He shrugged.  “It is Christmas Eve.”  He quietly made his way back to her.  “Here.  Stand up.”  She did, and he sat again, pulling her gently down against him.  He wrapped the disheveled blanket around them both once more, and Peggy leaned into his chest.

 _“Silent night,”_ a soft soprano sang.  _“Holy night.  All is calm…  All is bright…”_

“My mother loved this song,” Steve murmured.  His voice was a slow rumble against her hair.  “We sang it at church every Christmas Eve.  Not in German, of course.”  Peggy smiled into the bare skin of his shoulder, draping an arm across his stomach.  She could feel where he’d been slashed during the battle; she’d showered it with kisses earlier, blessing the healing skin so tender and new with her lips and her fingers.  Lightly she laid her hand over the spot to protect it now.  He sighed tiredly.  She could hear his heart beating through his chest, steady and strong beneath her ear.  She could feel him breathe, the impressive muscles of his stomach and chest shifting every time he inhaled.  “She sang it when she’d tuck me in Christmas Eve, too.  Every year she did when I was a kid.  She sang it and told me that this night is for peace.  Doesn’t matter where you are, who you are, what’s happened to you.  So every time I hear it, I think that.  This is a night for peace.”

 _Peace._ Somehow that was what they had here, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the worst and most violent war the world had ever known.  Somehow they’d found their way to this place and these things that had been left behind by a good soul.  A Christmas gift.  She held him tighter, thought of the Christmases of her youth.  Of singing this song as well, many, _many_ times, but never truly understanding what it meant.  Peace and comfort.  Salvation.  _It stopped a war._   Like her father had told her.  _This song, this night…  It stopped a war._

It probably shouldn’t have surprised her that Steve’s mother had been so wise.

The gramophone crackled, the old cylinder distorted by age.  Still the song played on, quiet and sweet.  Steve stroked his fingers through her hair, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head.  “Merry Christmas, Peg,” he whispered.

Peggy wanted to tell him she loved him.  She wanted to tell him she needed him, that she wanted him, that she could never thank him enough.  This inexplicable night with him had been the best gift she’d ever gotten, a new favorite Christmas.  And she wanted to wish him the same.  But she was already falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating.

* * *

Peggy slips from her memories.  She blinks and blinks the blurriness from her eyes and the shadowy world into focus.  Her coffee has long grown cold.  The cake is untouched.  The kitchen is so silent, so still.  Steve’s ghost is slow to release her.  The sound of his voice seems unwilling to fade from her mind.  The heat of his lips, the tenderness of his reverent touch, the way they spent that one, perfect Christmas…  The only Christmas together they had.  The only one of a lifetime of what _should have been._ She breathes through the pain.

But she doesn’t cry.  She’s stronger now.  She stands instead and walks to the window, holding her robe tightly around herself.  Through the frosted pane, she stares out into the snow softly falling.  It’s quiet outside, perfect and pretty.  Another silent, peaceful night.  She closes her eyes and lets it flow over her again.  She can almost feel his arms slide around her from behind, his bare chest broad, warm, and strong to her back.  She can almost smell him, taste him, as he kisses up her shoulder and neck before tenderly claiming her lips.  She can almost believe it’s real.

It’s not, though.  He’s gone, and she’s still moving on.

Still, she permits herself this fantasy, this dream.  This moment.  Then she opens her eyes and smiles at the night.  “Merry Christmas, darling.”

**THE END**


End file.
